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(Archive) PELARGIR: Departing on an Investigation

Tags: Menelglir,  Indoron,  Fencrist,  Farielle,  Lominzil,  Suliell,  Ssamori

Short Summary: Led by Menelglir, the plague investigation party departs Pelargir. Captain Indoron and his company send them off.
Date (real-life): 2014-01-06
Scene Location: Pelargir
Pelargir: Anarion's Gate

Enormous iron gates, tarnished and worn by age, lie partly drawn in an ancient grey granite archway, each point of the individual iron bars dulled where they have constantly embraced the granite slabbed street below. Massive lebethron doors frame the road, flung open to allow travellers and wagons to pass, carved with cunning patterns so that as the distance lengthens it seems as though a great tree is shuttered in each door. The street opens into a small courtyard dominated by a large bronze statue, and a small path, trimmed by obsidian slabs turns towards the large stone stables. To the north you can see the distant tops of trees, brilliant clouds of green with the grey ribbon of the south road slipping between them.
Statue of Anarion
Obvious exits:
Stairs <U>, Outside Pelargir <N>, Stables <W>, and Crossroads <S>

Winter is coming. 

Luckily, it's not here yet--though those who have gathered to help trace the source of the plague rumors are certainly equipped for the colder weather--or they should be. Menelglir, for one, has a fur lined cloak of white now. He waits upon his steed here at Anarion's Gate at the appointed hour for the group's departure.
Indoron sits on his own fine warhorse, a great black beast that snorts and throws his head around impetuously. But the captain keeps his mount in check with a firm grasp of the reins. Formed up behind him in ranks and columns are the men of the Silver Ship Company, ready to march overland to the Pelennor once all here is finished.

Fencrist is indeed prepared for colder weather. Over his armor is a worn a dark cloak and hood, which presently covers his head. The young man glances around at those assembling while minding his own horse which does not want to stand still, mirroring the rider's mood. Behind Fencrist, a squad of riders in escort wait to depart.

Farielle has arrived.

The young woman who had introduced herself as Suliell some days ago now and brought along with her the worrisome rumors from Lebennin is leading a rather old looking nag up to the gate. The horse isn't underfed, but it has an certain sinewy look to it of a beast that has seen far too many winters already. More than the old mare ever wished to see. 

An equally ratty saddle that sems a close match for the steed has been strapped on the old mare's back, and the various parcels and small things Suliell has purchased here in Pelargir are bundled tightly together behind the saddle: cloth, rope, small containers of herbs, and a motley assortment of other bits and bobs.

"Are we all here then?" Menelglir asks, glancing about--he frowns at the peasant woman's horse. "Get that woman a spare horse. That nag will never live through this journey. And you--" he points to Fencrist--"count up and make certain that we are all here." And yet--the knight turns his mount, heading out of the gate.

Indoron coughs loudly and then spurs his horse to catch up with Fencrist. Coming close, he says for his son's ears alone, "Do not let that Swansman forget you are the son of a noble lord and a Man of the Silver Ship." He nods then, releasing Fencrist.

Fencrist perks up and nods. Turning his saddle, he counts his own escort and then turns to the count the rest, occassionally needing to use his fingers for numbers that escape his memory. After deciding all are present who are supposed to be, Fencrist looks at Indoron and nods. "I will make sure, father."

A mouse-grey courser sits patiently at the gate, quiet as the man astride - a black-cloaked man wreathed in warm fur, and fine harness and armor. As he turns her to follow the Knight, the tall staff in his hand unfurls and dips with the motion: the banner of a white Swan against the blue sky, the Swan of Dol-Amroth.

[Farielle(#31396)] A lady rides up, somewhat breathless and windblown, her eyes searching through those gathered until they land on Lominzil. Farielle turns her mare towards her brother.

Looking up as another horse is brought, Suliell frowns at the old nag giving her a pat. "You did make it this far didn't you? Silly men wouldn't know a good horse if it came up and bit them, would they Geil?" Sighing at this further development, Suliell siply takes the newly offered horse, pulling herself up into the saddle. Reaching down, she took the old nag's halter and tied it to the saddle of this new horse.

She gave an almost defiant little sniff, clicking her tongue and urging both the horses forward after the knights. "I swear, what a mess, Geil." In spite of the horse' relative age, she trots along with the younger horse, clearly little bothered by her sudden change in fortunes. Her load had just gotten much lighter."

"Good, very good," Menelglir nods, having pulled his horse to the side to watch as the men and horses proceed out of the gate. "A much better mount," he comments on Suliell's new horse. "Your old one will arrive home healthier for his burden being eased." 

"We take the north road!" he calls to the group, pointing ahead.

With the fever company on its way, the Silver Ship begins its own journey. Indoron rides back and nods to the senior officers and under-officers who are on foot.

Under-officers yell out orders and the first of several columns of men begin marching forward, the great banner of the Silver Ship at the fore, held by the senior man-at-arms of the entire company.

A few of Indoron's chief lieutenants are on horseback as well and they join him just ahead of the first column which passes through the gate and then takes the road headed for Minas Tirith.

Fencrist looks over his shoulder as the Silver Ship Company taka a different path. Raising a hand, he waves at his comrades and then turns forward for the journey ahead.

Lominzil's horse whickers quietly to Menelglir's, no doubt commenting on the dust.

"I don't suppose," the Squire tells Farielle, brows lifted in faint surprise under his helmet, "you will offer your services as healer on this trip? Much too cold."

[Farielle(#31396)] "If there is a threat of sickness, shouldn't a healer go along?" Farielle asks, her face set in stubborn lines. "I can wear more clothes."

"Geil's done just fine for years." Suliell replies with a frown as she looks up at Menelglir. "She's a tough old lady, and even pulls the plow in the Spring." Glancing at the old nag, Suliell sighs, "Though we normally take our precious time going anywhere, and I'll not argue the point as long as she's coming home with me."

"She is coming north with you...and perhaps we will fatten her up along the way for her troubles, no?" Menelglir answers the peasant women. "Now--how long upon this road do we travel?" he asks--though of course he likely already knows that answer. 

He glances sharply to Farielle at her question, frowning. "Healers, yes. But the danger is great." And Fencrist, in his turn, gets an inquiring look.
"It is not the question of clothes," says Lominzil carefully, resting the standard against the cobbles. "It is a far road, and unseen. Are you not frightened of what we will find?"

Fencrist returns Menelglir's look and shrugs his shoulders. "I agree. My sword will be hard pressed to meet the danger that lies ahead."

[Farielle(#31396)] "Yes," Farielle answers honestly. She lifts her chin. "I am tired of hiding at home because I am afraid." Despite herself, her voice wobbles slightly at the end.

Drums suddenly are heard as the company drummers begin a lively marching cadence. As the last man clears the gate, his voice rises in song. He is joined within moments by the other Men of the Silver Ship.

Hark! I hear the foe advancing,
Barbed steeds are proudly prancing,
Helmets in the sunbeam glancing
Glitter through the trees
Men of Harlech, lie ye dreaming?
See ye not their falchions gleaming,
While their pennons gailey streaming
Flutter in the breeze?
From the rocks rebounding,
Let the warcry sounding
Summon all At Cambria's call,
The haughty foe surrounding,
Men of Harlech, on to Glory!
See, your banner fam'd in story
Waves these burning words before ye
"Britain scorns to yield!"

"Fat she could use, that much is certain. So... well, the easiest way by horse from this point is to simply follow the road west until just before ir reaches Linhir." Suliell gestured out the gate with her hand, vaguely motioning towards the left hand side of the gate as if she wewre tracing the road's distant course. 

"Then turn north at the River Serni and follow the trail that goes up her length until you reach Lafgobel. The village is a two or three days travel once you start following the Serni north. Frankly, though, you might not want to go that far off the beaten path."

She pauses in her explanation to watch the party march by, scrunching her face slightly at the noise they make.

And beneath the sudden din, Lominzil replies, 'So am I.'

"But I cannot bear to repeat our last journey."

Clearing his throat, he says, 'My sister is brave, and offers great help. It is decided, Hir Menelglir? Let us make haste, for winter comes.'

 "It is decided. She will come with us. Forward," Menelglir says, gesturing for the group to move ahead. "Follow the road west--we will see how close we can get to Linhir today before we make camp along the road."

To Suliell again, he frowns. "And why would that be? Why not go off the beaten path? This is Gondor."

[Farielle(#31396)] A smile brightens Farielle's wan face. "Thank you," she says equally quietly. "Nor - " She looks away a moment, then back. "Nor could I. But we stay safely in Gondor, surely? Despite any danger...?"

She nudges her mare to follow the others as neither her brother nor Sir Menelglir forbid her going.

Fencrist pulls his cloaked tight over his body, perhaps to help ward off the unseen danger that may lie ahead.

Arching a brow slightly at his question, the peasant woman chuckles and offers a Menelglir a whisp of a smile, "Because I don't think you're going to find what you've come looking for if you follow me the entire way. Linhir was full of rumors when I left there." 

Shrugging her shoulders, she adds, "Not that my opinion matters, but if I was you, I'd see if you could find folk who knew more about this fever than I in Linhir. I just don't think taking the nearly three day journey to my sleepy village is going to be worth your while. I could be wrong, so I'll not presume to direct you one way or the other."

"I see. Lominzil? What say you? My feeling is we go to Linhir--talk to folks. But then we will go to this woman's village, as well," Menelglir says. "Farielle--you agree?" He does, also, glance to Fencrist, as if inviting that man's opinion, too.

Fencrist looks at the peasant woman and then at Menelglir. "M'lord, my feeling is we must backtrack these rumors without delay. Plague or rumor, either is dangerous for Gondor. Haste is my counsel, m'lord."

"Rumors in Linhir," says the Squire, nodding to the woman, "but no herbs. Yes, the road is easy."

His cloak, heavy, warm and earthy-smelling as his horse, he tosses to Farielle.

[Farielle(#31396)] "Linhir does seem the place to begin," Farielle agrees. She smiles at Suliell a little shyly, as Lominzil's cloak falls across her saddle. She tugs the heavy material over her shoulders, protesting at the same time, "But won't you be cold, Lomin?"
"Well, give me yours. Not the dress," says her brother shortly.

[Farielle(#31396)] "I certainly won't give you my dress!" Farielle shrugs the heavy, wolf-fur collared cloak off her shoulders again, and starts to unfasten her own, lighter, finer one. Her mare must be well-tempered, for she continues walking forward as if entirely used to such acrobatics above. At last, the lady manages to free herself of her cloak, and hands it to her brother, pulling his back on.

Offering Farielle a flash of a grin, Suliell nods to the woman and settles back into the saddle, letting her shoulders slump. "And heard the majority of what I did in Linhir anyhow. Anyhow, however you want to do it, so long as I get back to my farm." Clicking her tongue, she adds with a sigh, "Though I've almost certainly missed the time for planting the winter small grain. Heh."

"Linhir, then," Menelglir says. "At least there perhaps we can trade for warmer clothes for those who are ill prepared," he says, frowning to Farielle. "We will see what rumors we can find there. It is three days' ride--but we will ride far into the night to shorten the journey. Understood?" he asks the group.

Fencrist pulls his horse out of line and lets his squad of escorts pass by, and see they have his attention, after one of their number audibly groans at the prospect of a night ride.

"Forward," calls Lominzil, slinging the embroidered cloak over his shoulder as he pushes forward, letting the pennant fly.

[Farielle(#31396)] Farielle lifts her chin and squeezes her legs around her horse's sides, urging it onwards.

"Come along, Geil. They certainly aren't going to wait for your leathery withers." Suliell commented dryly before urging both the old nag and the horse she's riding forward with clicking of her tongue.

Menelglir spurs his horse to ride ahead of the group for a while, leaving to Lominizil to lead the main group.

Fencrist lets the party pass and then brings up the rear to watch for stragglers.

Date added: 2014-02-26 01:17:31    Hits: 55
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